


Artigiano

by Perrikara



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Action, Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, Coffee, Coffee Shops, Cute, Guitars, Italian Mafia, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-08-06
Updated: 2016-08-24
Packaged: 2018-07-29 17:26:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,672
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7693114
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Perrikara/pseuds/Perrikara
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Lovino Vargas - waiter at the Swing Cafe - has a forgotten past with music. Short on cash and not exactly in the best position to resolve it, many of his passions, likewise, lay firmly trampled into the dust under work, school, bills and taxes. Oh, and a detestable boss who delights in constantly reminding Lovino that he is on what she likes to call probation. But the cafe has just come under new management, and with new management comes big changes. Lovino finds the place he spends half of his life in morphing rapidly, and is quickly introduced to someone who might finally help him rekindle his old passions and set alight some new flames.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. I

A THIN breeze whistled through the alleyways tucked away behind the main road, a mere echo of the gusts churning up the salty seawater some twenty metres away. The place appeared deserted in favour of the grey beach and one prized chippy. Not one passer-by came to wonder what could be hidden inside the cobblestone labyrinth - many leathered shoes clicked by, a pushchair trundled past followed by a very tired-looking man - but the alleyway's sole visitor was an old leaf from a long-discarded magazine. A celebrity smiled eternally from its worn and faded pages.

One building seemed responsible for the absence of people out in the narrow streets, amid the colourful plastered houses and olive trees. A small, dark corner of the road had attracted a swarm of lurkers, with a lonely pair smoking outside in all-black attire. One nudged the other and nodded in the direction of a straying couple, who shuffled away with haste when the two shady figures fixed a glare and a sneer on them.

"Oi, sweetheart!" One called in a voice made rough by smoke, "What are you doing with scum like him? I can show you a better time!" The other caught on and emitted a loud wolf-whistle, raising his black fedora for the first time. The girl blushed furiously and had to be physically restrained by her boyfriend.

"You don't know him!" She shouted as she began to move away from the two men, whose expressions had turned very sour indeed and whose hands had both inched towards two suspicious bulges concealed beneath their suits. She was suddenly aware that these people were probably not your typical greasy, drunk catcallers. One man handed the other one a packet of white powder subtly behind his back.

Inside the building - a cafe - the scene was not much better. There was some friendly music playing from a battered pair of speakers, but it could not be heard for the cacophony of rowing, gambling and bargaining. Many men of the same calibre as the two outside showed utter disrespect for the law as they went about their business. Here: one person reached across a table to grab at a collared throat, cursing him violently, there: another passed over two thirds of his life savings as it became apparent that the chips were not in his favour that day.  


At the bar, someone quite at odds with the rest of the scene wearily attempted to clean the ever-growing mound of glasses stacking up behind him while navigating the swarming crowd of people at the bar who still wanted drinks. His green eyes were dark with irritation - even the golden central rings had lost their usual glow. His brown hair hung limp in front of his eyes, blackened by sweat from the stuffy surroundings and curling slightly at the ends. His formal waistcoat-and-tie uniform chafed and seemed to mark him out from the black-clad customers, who gathered around him, some of them simply jeering.  


"Hey, barboy, you little slut. I told you, give me more of this stuff or you'll find yourself without any more to give!" Lovino gritted his teeth without looking up,  


"You've already had five refills, and by the looks of things that's more than enough for you," he spoke gently, perhaps even too gently to be heard above the din, but his tone warned of the explosive anger concealed behind his words. He moved on to the next customer, one hand clutching the knife in his pocket through the fabric.  


A thump was heard as the man who had been rejected ground his fist into the dark oak of the bar. He reached over and pulled the poor barman towards him by the throat, spittle landing everywhere as he threatened him.  


"I said, get me more," his voice growled. He paused for breath, before yelling, "Did you not hear me?" Not one person in the room turned towards the sound, with all of them absorbed in their own private duels, but those clustered around the bar began to complain.  


"Come off it, Alberto, we want drinks too!" One person moaned. Alberto spat in their direction.  


Lovino felt the pressure on his neck slacken before what felt like a sack full of bricks slammed into the side of his head, sending him staggering backwards. His head pulsed and whirled as he tasted the tell-tale metallic flavour of blood in his mouth. His hand tightened on his knife, but he knew he couldn't bring it to that. Holding a hand to his face, he protested quietly, his voice muffled by the swelling pool of blood in his mouth. Although he knew it would do nothing but anger Alberto, he knew he had to follow the procedure,  


"Sir, I'm going to have to ask you to leave,"  


"Leave, my ass," the larger man exclaimed. _How articulate._ Alberto drew back his hand, preparing himself for another blow. It took him a while to steady himself, being ridiculously drunk, which gave Lovino a brief window in which to dodge under the bar table. The hand shot right over him, and the man staggered face-first into the table, tripping over a stool. Lovino, hidden under the bar, was conflicted. He couldn't win a fight - the other man had a gun. He had no means of contacting anyone, either, and the man looked like he wouldn't give up now he'd started, even if he was offered a drink. He decided to rile up the others against their colleague:  


"Listen, the others want their drinks. Why don't you get out of the way?" He challenged, standing up but back, well out of reach of Alberto. His statement was meet with cries of agreement from the other, equally drunk, men. A conflict developed quickly from there, with Alberto trying to take on at least five aggressors with his gun forgotten in his pocket. He was quickly knocked out. Pursing his lips smugly, Lovino watched the group cart Alberto through the doors and unceremoniously into the streets, where he'd likely wake up tomorrow morning with a banging headache and a lack of memories regarding his little brawl with the barman.  


"Lovino!" A voice came from the backroom, just a tad higher-pitched than the rest of the shouting and so possible to distinguish from the never-ceasing background noise. 

Lovino cringed - it still scraped his ears and was far from the kind of voice he wanted to hear. Emerging among the crowd, his boss fixed furious eyes on him, marching forwards.  


"How dare you, trying to drive away our customers, are you? I could hear your funny little play-fight from downstairs!" She chastised as she joined him behind the bar, somehow ignoring the constant violence around her that Lovino had hardly added to at all. Lovino looked down, focusing on the glass he was cleaning, pretending the blood stains on the sides were exceptionally tough.  


"Sorry ma'am," he whispered, his voice barely audible over the shouting, although there were many other things he would have liked to say, like: _I didn't raise a hand against him. I followed the procedure. There are fights going on 24/7, why do you care about this one?_  


Of course, he knew the answer to his last question - his boss simply didn't like him. While she stayed downstairs in the cellar and chatted with the only other employee - a young boy that Lovino had never really spoken to much - he had to deal with the rowdy crowds up here. _Era sempre la stessa zuppa._  


Her cardboard face remained stiff as she regarded him with small, dark eyes.  


"I have had it in mind to fire you for a long time, boy - you're always causing trouble." Lovino frowned. It seemed today would be the day she finally got her dream, "But my last shift's over," she inclined her head towards the clock on the wall behind them, which now read five past midnight. Indeed, the light coming in through the large, arched windows embedded in the cold stone walls had long since faded away.  


"You're leaving?" Lovino couldn't help the hope creeping into his voice. Trust Rosa to keep this wonderful news between herself and the cellar-boy.  


"Yes, you stupid boy, don't you ever listen? The new manager will be arriving tomorrow. I must say, I don't quite approve of their... tastes... But they offered the most money for the business, so how could I refuse?"  


Lovino smiled in what he hoped looked like an understanding gesture. If the new manager disagreed with Rosa, they'd be sure to get on.  


"I'll be sorry to see you go," he spoke formally, before resuming his washing, trying to take advantage of the sudden lapse in interest from customers to reduce the size of the pile of glasses - he still had an hour to go. His boss seemed to get the hint for once and edged away through the crowd into the cold night air, tightening a garish scarf around her neck.


	2. II

The next time Lovino came into work on the morning of Sunday, he was greeted by a startling emptiness inside the cafe. All of the tables had been removed, the bar had been uprooted and apparently scrapped, and some of the dark carpeting had been stripped away from the wooden floor. The shelves, which were usually reserved for a selection of heavy alcohols behind the bar, now housed a delicate collection of wines and pale wooden figures. The heavy curtains that usually cloaked the windows during the day had been pulled down and were nowhere to be seen, allowing Lovino to appreciate the vast nature of the windows for the first time - they spanned almost the entirety of the rustic stone wall opposite the shelves, arches of glass giving a view of the colourful alleyways and the open square outside. The thin plaster wall to the left had been completely demolished - it had always been unnecessary, having only formed a barrier between two parts of the cafe. In its place was a group of black platforms that tesselated perfectly to form what looked like a stage. On the dark wood-panelled floor revealed behind the carpet, several cans of brown paint lay strewn around, with the three ugly green walls already partially coated in the same warm colour. The painted areas were lit by lantern-like lamps attached to the walls, bathing the large room in a sweet golden light and, overall, making it feel smaller and cosier. From the splashes of paint on the dark winding staircase, Lovino guessed these were not the only changes - the first floor had finally been painted a more appealing shade too.  


"Hello?" He called, hesitating to put down his rucksack now that there was no bar to stand behind. A loud 'ooh' noise from the back room answered him, and a woman emerged in the open doorway.  


Lovino ground to a halt. Everything that Rosa was, this woman was the opposite. Her features, unlike the sturdy squareness of the previous patron, were soft and rounded. 

She was on the plump side, with equally plump plumes of nut-gold hair and eyes of raw emerald green. Her clothes were loose and colourful - a pastel blue dress, a worn old cardigan and a faded pink apron dusted in white flour and flaking paint.  


"Oh, dear - Lovino, is it? - wonderful to see you!" Her tone was almost comparable to the clucking of a mother hen, "Oh, do come down to the cellar, my husband and I are just stocking up, none of that horrible ale stuff anymore!" she winked benevolently, "Ooh, we were just briefing your co-worker on the changes we're going to make around here, and we could definitely do with some helping hands,"  


Lovino nodded mutely, somewhat taken aback by the striking contrast between the bar-type place he knew, and the cute, cosy cafe he had just realised it was to become, without even the slightest hint of the awkward transition period he had imagined. After a few seconds of stunned silence, he remembered his manners enough to smile at the first of his two new bosses,  


"Of course, Mrs... ?" The woman let out an exaggerated gasp and waved a hand at Lovino,  


"Mrs Agnellutti, if you must know, dear. But don't - oof, don't take that formal tone with me, please, call me Arianna,"  


"Of course," Lovino beamed, just glad to be out of Rosa's grip.  


He was then led down into the cellar for the first time in what must have been several months. The air was full of disturbed dust; the old barrels of fermented alcohol had been replaced by shelves and shelves of new wine.  


"Wine won't be our main trade, of course," Mr Agnellutti - Roberto - assured Lovino, checking to see that all the bottles on a shelf were in the right place. He was thinner than his wife, and less colourful - his clothes were all unassuming neutral hues. Nothing stood out in the mass of brown clothes, brown hair and tanned skin except his shining golden eyes, which glistened with humour, "We'll be doing a lot of baked goods and general coffee shop things - but we might as well make use of this space," without looking away from his task, he leaned his body over towards his two staff, "But because we don't want the bar, that means you guys will have to do a lot more waiting, d'accordo?" His voice was kind but firm, giving a mere hint that he was not open to negotiation.  


The cellar boy did not pick up on his finality and squirmed uncomfortably, ready to press his case forward, "Sir, I usually stay down here to maintain the drinks before they're sold," he simpered. The man he was addressing squinted and his thin lips arched into a generous smile, still not looking at him,  


"What a silly idea, Stefano! We have security cameras installed and that's all we need - these bottles aren't going to go on holiday the moment you leave them,"  


Stefano frowned, before straightening up as Roberto looked straight at the two employees for the first time in a fatherly sort of way.  


"Alright, we're done down here, and your shift-" he nodded at Lovino -"started at exactly the right time for a lunch break. What's the use of working in a cafe if you can't try the food? Come on," he gestured to the stairs up into the backroom, and Lovino noticed that they had even been decorated with homely strings of onions and a small, fat statue of a chef. The four workers scaled the stairs quickly and were soon pulling their first assembled beech table across the main room and onto the exposed wooden floor.  


"Oh," sniffed Arianna with a huge beam and her hands clasped in what was clearly a rush of emotion, "let me just take a picture, it's all coming together so wonderfully!"  


And so Lovino posed awkwardly with a co-worker he had never liked in the slightest, just glad that he would probably never need to bring a knife to work again. Spoon in hand, he settled down to focus on his coffee, stirring it and concentrating intently on the bittersweet ambrosia as it swirled slowly into the milky froth - breathing in its warm, chocolaty scent as though he could drink the air itself, so unlike the acrid fumes of beer, always something loud and bold to drink, and gone in minutes. No, coffee was something to be savoured indeed.  


After a delicious meal of pastries and rich coffee, the group got back to work on painting, mostly, and were almost able to finish making the place look presentable (the room upstairs had never been touched by Rosa, so clearly it was already to the new managers' tastes). At the end of the day, Lovino was told kindly that the cafe would be open for business tomorrow, and sent off with a sample of delicious recipes and a kind of long-missed, foreign excitement at the prospect of going to work the next day.


End file.
